


Whispers

by Bramblepelt



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Gen, all aboard the sad times express
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-14
Updated: 2017-01-14
Packaged: 2018-09-17 12:51:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9324395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bramblepelt/pseuds/Bramblepelt
Summary: When you sleep, sometimes you dream. When you meditate, sometimes whispers of memories you can't let go are all you can see.





	

Sometimes when he meditates there are whispers of a life stolen before it could happen. Vague memories of warmth and security brush up against his tired mind and threaten to remind him of what he lost and never could have. There’s a figure holding his hand loosely, very young, still a child but much older than him. The figure looks down at him and laughs, what did he do that made her laugh? Her? It was most certainly a girl, he thinks. Someone who was always there in every whisper. She must have been a sister or cousin or something. He’ll never remember what made her so happy in that moment but what he does remember is her hand ruffling through his hair and he can almost make out her voice saying “Good job little mongoose.”

There’s a vivid memory of someone brushing his hair. He can’t see any faces or hear any voices, but strong hands are pulling his hair back and running a brush gently from scalp to end. He remembers the room, sitting cross legged on a small bed (his bed?), the walls are bare but there’s a large open window. There’s a soft cool breeze coming in making the light blue drapes move lazily. He’s gripping a stuffed soft toy, he can’t remember what it looked like. There’s a stack of books in the corner. There’s not much else to the space but it feels like everything he wanted. The brushing is rhythmic and careful, it makes him drowsy. Someone tells him he got his hair from his mother.

There’s one last good thought that comes back time and time again and it’s the best one of all. The smell of fresh baked bread is overwhelming. He’s sitting at a table. The girl is sitting next to him. Across are two adults. Their faces are blurred, lost to him. There’s a bowl of soup in front of him and it’s so small and looks like barely enough. But the feeling in the memory is just so full of joy and contentment you’d think it was a holiday feast on the table. Maybe that night was a holiday, maybe that’s why it sticks out so prominently. The girl is trying to teach him a song, and one of the adults asks her to finish eating before they start playing. The soup tastes amazing, there’s laughter and warmth.

It’s warm. It’s too warm. It’s so hot. He can smell smoke. Something is burning his hand. It’s getting hard to breathe. The only thought he has is to get out, just run away. Escape out the window. Keep running until he can breathe again. Knees hit soft mud. Behind him his home is gone. Red flames engulf everything he had and everything he loved. He stares and waits to see someone, anyone also running. He’s frozen and shaking. No one is coming.

There’s nothing else until the monotonous days living with his aunt start. They never speak of what happened before or who was there. He was afraid to know. He’s still afraid to really remember. He doesn’t want to dwell on what he would be today or how different everything would be if only that flame hadn’t been set. It’s pointless to think of such things. He is who he is and where he is and nothing is going to change that. But still, had the cup taken him further and further to that night, would he have taken it? Would he have glimpsed at what he assumed was his first family and begged to save them? Just give up everything and everyone he has here and now, to save these whispers.

Probably not. Everyone on this fake moon would be absolutely dead by now without him and then who’d be saving the world? If you want something done right. He thinks whoever that girl was, she’d probably be proud of him for everything they’ve accomplished. He doesn’t know why but he’s pretty sure in this conviction. He slips back out of the memories and returns from meditation. It’s morning. After breakfast he has a magic lesson with Angus. He wonders if the kid has anything else going on today. It’d be neat to teach him how to bake bread.

**Author's Note:**

> ┐(￣ー￣)┌


End file.
